The ungrateful son who tied his elderly mother to a post received immediate retribution the next day.
In a small, dilapidated tin-roofed house on the edge of a winding alley in a poor village in Uttar Pradesh, Lakshmi, over seventy years old, still had to hunch over carrying water and gathering wild vegetables from the fields to sell for a few rupees to buy rice. Her husband died early, and she raised her only son, Arjun, alone. In the past, everyone in the village said Arjun was Lakshmi’s pride, because he was a good student and had been sent to New Delhi to work, hoping for a better life. But life never expected that the son who once brought her tears of happiness would now be the one to bring her endless humiliation in her later years.

Since Arjun got married, everything changed dramatically. At first, Arjun and his wife allowed his mother to live with them in their small house, but after only a few months, conflicts began to arise. Arjun’s wife, Priya, came from a well-off family in the city and was accustomed to a comfortable life, so she was visibly annoyed by Lakshmi’s rustic and slow manner. The clanging of copper dishes in the house was not just the sound of clacking, but also the veiled, sarcastic remarks in Hindi. Arjun initially sided with his mother, but gradually sided with his wife, letting her endure it.

That winter, the Ganges plain was bitterly cold. Lakshmi coughed incessantly, but still diligently cooked rice and swept the house. Before the rice was even cooked, her daughter-in-law came in from the yard, her voice harsh:

“Mother, I’ve told you so many times, stay home and rest, don’t touch the kitchen anymore. Your cooking doesn’t suit our family’s taste.”

Lakshmi bowed her head and mumbled an apology. Arjun stood beside her, saying nothing, only glancing at his mother before stepping out onto the porch to smoke. That night, she sat alone in the corner of the kitchen, mending an old sari while listening to her son and daughter-in-law arguing in the bedroom. Priya’s voice rang out:

“Choose, either me or your mother. I can’t stand this anymore!”

The next morning, while the mustard fields were still covered in mist, Arjun entered the kitchen. His voice was icy cold:

“Mother, I’m telling the truth. The house is too small; Priya and I can’t stand this anymore. You should move to the small shack next to the cowshed for now.”

Mrs. Lakshmi was stunned, but still managed a smile:

“Alright, I understand… I’m old now, it’s a burden to bother you two.”

But the story didn’t end there. Just a week later, Arjun returned home with a sullen expression. He slammed the door, dragging Mrs. Lakshmi out into the yard. Priya stood with her arms crossed, a faint smile on her face.

– Mother, from now on, don’t wander outside anymore, the neighbors will gossip. Stay put for me.

Without waiting for her to ask, Arjun brought out a rope and coldly tied her hands to the porch post. The ropes cut into her skin, causing pain, but the most painful thing was the cruelty of the son she had given birth to. She looked at Arjun, her dull eyes brimming with tears:

– Beta… why are you treating me like this?

Arjun turned away, his voice curt:

– Don’t blame me, Mother. I’ll only be at peace if you stay put.

That night, the hot wind blew fiercely, and it drizzled. Lakshmi sat tied against the post, trembling all over from the cold. The neighbors saw her and were indignant, but partly out of respect and partly out of fear of getting involved in other people’s family matters, they only whispered amongst themselves. An elderly neighbor secretly brought Lakshmi a bowl of hot rice porridge, but with her hands tied, she could only bend down and sip it slowly. Tears mingled with rainwater, bitter and salty.

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight rose over the Ganges, something unexpected happened. Arjun woke up, preparing to go to work, when he suddenly clutched his chest and collapsed. Priya frantically called for an ambulance, but before it arrived, Arjun’s face turned purple. The doctor later confirmed he had suffered an acute myocardial infarction and died on the spot. The terrible news spread throughout the village. People felt both sorrow and a sense of karmic retribution that had come too quickly.

Priya was devastated, weeping uncontrollably over her husband’s body. Lakshmi, upon hearing the news, felt her legs tremble. She was still bound, and a neighbor quickly untied her. Looking at her dead son, she tremblingly placed her thin hand on his forehead, murmuring a prayer:

“My son… why did you leave so quickly… No matter what you did to me, I didn’t want to lose you…”

The Hindu funeral took place in a light drizzle. No one dared mention the incident with the rope from the previous day, but everyone remembered. After her husband’s death, Priya became depressed and frequently went to apologize to Lakshmi. But the marks on Lakshmi’s wrists remained, and the pain in her heart never faded.

Lakshmi harbored no resentment, simply living out her final days quietly in her small hut. Occasionally, she would go to the ghat by the river – where Arjun was cremated – and sit and talk to herself. The villagers looked at her with pity. They said that she had suffered from youth to old age, yet remained kind and never blamed anyone. And that story, like a reminder of filial piety and how to treat others according to the law of karma, speaks volumes. Because while people may forgive many things, disrespecting one’s parents – whether the consequences come sooner or later – will haunt one’s heart for life.